


Branded

by lachesism (sluttyeren)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch, Branding, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sluttyeren/pseuds/lachesism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, what's this?"<br/>"You got eyes, you know what it is."</p>
<p>McCree has just been recruited into Blackwatch under Gabriel Reyes' command, but his connections to Deadlock aren't all gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branded

**Author's Note:**

> An idea me and a friend had thrown around that I just really wanted to write, any feedback is welcome! Considering writing more McReaper where they are a little nicer to each other.

“Had enough yet?” McCree looked up, shaking his head. Reyes had just knocked him easily to the ground, again, an arrogant smirk playing on his face. He motioned for McCree to stand, stepping back so they could spar again. Hand to hand combat was not something he was good at, and his right hand ghosted over the space Peacekeeper should have been holstered. It wasn’t, and he clutched the empty space with a grimace. McCree didn’t really see the point in this, seemed like a monumental waste of energy to him. If any of their confrontations ended without weapons, they were fucked in plain English.  
  
McCree did stand though, steadying himself and pushing the hair out of his face. He had already stripped off his armor and chaps, and he pulled his shirt off over his head before they continued and tossed it aside.  
“Oh, what’s this?” Reyes dropped his hands from the defensive position he was in, walking towards McCree with his eyes focused on the other man’s chest. McCree followed his gaze, knowing already what had caught his attention. In the center of his chest was the Deadlock symbol, scarred into his skin.  
  
“You got eyes, you know what it is.” McCree watched Reyes’ face as he stood before him, surveying the brand. Reyes was silent for a moment, but the look on his face had contempt written all over it. Finally he reached forward, dragging a finger roughly over the uneven skin.  
  
“Can’t have that. You don’t belong to them anymore. You belong to _me_ now.” McCree ignored the threat in that sentence.  
  
“It ain’t like it’s a sticker I can just pull off, ya know? It’s kinda permanent. Nothing I can do ‘bout that.” Put off with the inspection, McCree picked his shirt up off the floor and pulled it back on. He’d rather sweat to death than feel Reyes’ eyes on him like this, critical and dangerous. “So you gonna kick my ass some more or we done for the day?”  
  
“We’re done for now.” Reyes crossed his arms, watching McCree gather up the rest of his discarded clothing and head out.

  


Alone in his quarters, McCree examines his chest in the mirror. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, reminded every time he catches sight of that jagged, bubbled scar. McCree glared at the reflection, pulling his shirt back down and walking off with a grunt. He could really use a smoke right about now.  
  
Keeping his head down, McCree fiddled with the lighter in his pocket as he made his way through the halls and outside. He wasn’t particularly fond of the other Blackwatch members as of yet, and presently he really did not want any company. As luck would have it, he made it outside without interruption. The little enclosed courtyard that they considered their back yard was in reality not much more than a cement slab and a set of stairs that led back inside on the lower level. A railing lined the area around the stairway, and against one of the exterior walls of the building was a line of storage chests. Slouching against the side of the building, he pulled out a cigar and lit it, feeling some of the tension leave him as he took a long drag. Tipping his hat forward to cover his face, McCree let his head tip back to rest against the wall behind him. At least Overwatch allowed them this much freedom. Better than the cell he could be rotting in. Better than a grave.  
  
Really thinking on it, he did owe Reyes for that much. He evidently thought McCree would be useful, enough so that he’d overlook his criminal behavior and give him a shot. McCree grimaced, flicking ash from the end of his cigar and blowing a stream of smoke above his head. He thought back on Reyes’ words from earlier, ‘You belong to me now’. He was the last man McCree wanted to be indebted to.  
  
For now, his peace was short lived as he reached the end of his cigar and put it out under his boot. McCree made his way back into the building, following the winding halls back to his room and to bed.

  


The weeks that followed saw an odd shift in Reyes’ treatment of him. He doesn’t mention the brand, even in the times that McCree bares his chest, but McCree can still feel his eyes lingering on him. More than once he has caught sight of Reyes from across the room, eyes trained on McCree with a look he didn’t want to name.  
  
To his credit, McCree had worked very hard in training and on the few short missions they had gone out on. If he was going to do this he might as well do it right, maybe make up for some of the terrible shit he’s done. He might be a piece of shit but he isn’t completely irredeemable. Part of him also wanted to believe he was impressing Reyes, proving himself of value. That still didn’t stop him from talking back to his superior. Old habits die hard.  
  
“What’sa matter old man, joints givin’ out on ya?” McCree surprised himself, holding his own against Reyes in hand to hand. Just barely, but he would absolutely still get a jab in here and there where he could. Reyes was bent forward, hands on his knees while he caught his breath.  
  
“Can it, _vaquero_. I was just about to compliment you, too.” He straightened up, rolling his shoulders and shaking his arms out.  
  
“Aw, well if that don’t just melt my heart.” McCree took his hat off, holding it over his chest with a smirk. He bowed and gestured with his other hand, “Go on then.” Reyes smiled despite himself.  
  
“You’ve improved. Much better than when I first dragged you here. Glad to know all my hard work with you has been paying off so far.” That sobered McCree up a bit. That, along with the predatory gleam that had returned to his eyes.  
  
“’So far’, meanin’ you’re not done with me yet?”  
  
“Far from it.”  
  


Reyes watched the Blackwatch recruits from against the back wall of the room where he paced slowly. He had them paired off so he could watch each of them from an outside perspective, it was harder to tell them what they were doing wrong if he was too close to see it. Reyes heard the door to his left crack open, and Morrison walked in. Reyes kept his eyes on his recruits but stopped pacing.  
  
“Strike Commander.”  
  
“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Morrison stopped beside him, turning his attention to the recruits as well. “How are they doing, your men?” Part of Reyes took pride in that thought, despite his bitterness.  
  
“They are good. Some better than others.”  
  
“Ah, does Captain Gabriel have a favorite? Which one.” Morrison elbowed his ribs as he looked around the room.  
  
“Watch it, Boy Scout. He’s doing well.” Reyes nodded towards McCree, getting his ass handed to him by someone easily half a foot taller than him and twice as wide. But he was still standing. “He’s a work in progress,” Reyes admitted. “Still mouthy and ungrateful. Needs to be put in his place.”  
  
“Watch it, Gabe. Your ‘lessons’ can be less instructive and more destructive sometimes. You’ve got a good team on your hands. Don’t mess it up over something like that.” Reyes finally tore his eyes away to glare at Morrison.  
  
“I know what I’m doing, Jack.”

  


“Son, do you know what time it is?” McCree blinked the sleep from his eyes, glaring at the young man at his door.  
  
“If you don’t like it go complain to the captain. I did my job.”  
  
He told McCree that Reyes wanted him outside, but he didn’t know and didn’t care why. Still, McCree followed the familiar route out, itching for a smoke as soon as he pushed the door open. At close to midnight, he was surprised to step out into the almost total blackness of night to see a fire burning in the courtyard illuminating the small space. And no Reyes. McCree stepped forward cautiously. Reyes arm was an iron cage around his neck before he heard a single footstep.  
  
“A shame _partner_ , you’re supposed to be better than that,” Reyes teased him, keeping his arm locked against McCree’s neck and pushing him closer to the fire. “Letting an _old man_ sneak up on you.” McCree was instantly on edge, nothing about this was right. Reyes sounded off.  
  
“Har har, you got me. Jokes over yeah? What did you want me out here for at this time of night anyway?” McCree made to brush Reyes’ arm away but he didn’t budge, vice grip holding him in place. Uneasy, his right hand touched the empty holster at his hip. The movement didn’t go unnoticed. Reyes tightened his grip, leading McCree around the edge of the fire towards the stairs. At a loss, McCree allowed himself to be led, confusion momentarily replacing his unease.  
  
“No jokes, just business,” Reyes turned him around by his shoulders, pressing down until McCree was sitting back against the railing. “Thank you for your cooperation. This will be over faster if you do not move.” Reyes had one of his wrists against the railing, rope snaking around it before he could ask what he meant.  
  
“Now hang on, what-“McCree scrambled to pull himself up, get his hand free but Reyes took advantage of the fact that he was tired and off guard. He struggled to keep his left robotic arm free.  
  
“If you don’t hold that arm still I am pulling it off, McCree,” Reyes growled, forcing his hand back until metal collided loudly with metal. Sometimes McCree forgot how strong Reyes actually was, since his enhancements weren’t visible. Satisfied, Reyes straightened up and turned back to his little fire. Walking over to the chest closest to them, he opened it and pulled out something McCree couldn’t make out in the dark until he brought it back into the light of the flames. Dread knotting in his stomach instantly.  
  
“No...” he whispered, but he knew Reyes could hear him.  
  
“No? You think I’d let you keep that?” Reyes twirled the metal poker over in his hands a few times. The end of it had welded to it a thick, crude ‘X’, and Reyes set that end down in the fire. “You said it yourself cowboy, it’s not like you can just take it off. So I had to think of some other way to get rid of it.” He strolled back over to McCree, who was now desperately pulling at his restraints. Reyes bent, opening McCree’s shirt one button at a time to reveal McCree’s bare, heaving chest and the Deadlock brand still branded onto the center of it. McCree was already sweating, and not from the heat of the fire.  
  
“Don’t I get some whiskey at least? Or somethin’ to bite down on?” He still tugged violently at the rope, biding his time. Reyes seemed to consider this for a moment.  
  
“Whiskey after.” He turned back to grab the poker from the fire, tapping the edge on the cement and watching sparks fly from it. Facing McCree again, Reyes pressed his boot hard into McCree’s stomach, holding him down with enough force to bruise.  
  
“Hold still.” Reyes closed one eye, and that was all the warning he gave before lining up the poker over McCree’s old brand and quickly pushing it onto his skin. McCree’s scream was hoarse and short, the sizzling of his own skin outlasting it until Reyes pulled the poker back. McCree kept his eyes shut, teeth clenched as he heard Reyes give an approving huff.  
  
“Much better.”  
  
McCree deflated, sinking back against the railing and letting his arms sag. He could feel the burn on his wrist from the rope and the dull ache in his stomach from Reyes’ foot. His chest felt tight where the skin had been seared, but the sharp pain was gone. Branding killed the nerve endings, but Reyes’ brand was larger than the Deadlock brand. McCree remembered Reyes sizing it up when he had first seen it, and wondered if this had always been his intention. He was too drained to care at this point, it was done.  
  
Reyes cut the ropes, offering McCree a hand as if what had occurred was nothing out of the ordinary. McCree slapped it away weakly, wincing at how the action pulled at his wound. He got himself to his feet with the help of the rail behind him as Reyes laughed.  
  
“You’re a fucked up man, Reyes.” McCree headed for the door as soon as he was upright, watching as Reyes calmly cleaned the area and doused the fire. He shuddered as the adrenaline wore off and the night air hit him. Reyes eyed him up and down, taking in the fresh ‘X’ burned into his flesh before settling on McCree’s face.  
  
“I can live with that. How about that whiskey I owe you?”


End file.
